The fit was on me, however, and I couldn't let my ardour cool and my work wait, with the fading daylight, while my model prepared it.
So I asked Mrs.Monarch if she would mind laying it out--a request which for an instant brought all the blood to her face.

Her eyes were on her husband's for a second, and some mute telegraphy passed between them.
Their folly was over the next instant; his cheerful shrewdness put an end to it.

So far from pitying their wounded pride, I must add, I was moved to give it as complete a lesson as I could.

They bustled about together and got out the cups and saucers and made the kettle boil.

I know they felt as if they were waiting on my servant, and when the tea was prepared I said: "He'll have a cup, please--he's tired." Mrs.
Monarch brought him one where he stood, and he took it from her as if he had been a gentleman at a party squeezing a crush-hat with an elbow.
Then it came over me that she had made a great effort for me--made it with a kind of nobleness--and that I owed her a compensation.